Let It Snow
by oucellogal
Summary: Lilly takes her therapist's advice and tries to indulge her inner child. Pure LillyScotty fluff, friendship with maybe a hint of something more.


**Let It Snow**

**Summary: Lilly takes her therapist's advice and tries to indulge her inner child. ****One-shot, pure ****LillyScotty**** fluff.****Friendship, with maybe a hint of something more.**

**Rating: T for a little language.**

**Spoilers: None.**

**A/N: This is a distraction from the other, longer ****fics**** I'm currently working on. It came to me this morning as I was attempting to remove eight inches of snow from our driveway. I'm still new to ****fanfic****, so please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but they're so much fun to play with.**

So my therapist told me I need to have more fun. Laugh. Play. Get in touch with my inner child.

I know. Sounded like total crap to me, too, at least at first. I must have given her a startled expression, because she chuckled at me. She actually chuckled, and then turned serious and explained that she wasn't joking, that I really did need to have more fun.

See, my childhood…well, it wasn't the best. I don't want to get into it here, because God knows I already talked about it today much more than I ever wanted to in my whole lifetime, what with this office-mandated therapy and all. But suffice it to say that while other little girls were playing with Barbies and dress-up clothes, I was pulling a blanket over my passed-out-drunk mom and wondering if I could make dinner for Chris and me out of a box of Cheerios and half a can of Spam.

So I guess the shrink has a point, I didn't have a normal childhood. But I didn't feel like I missed out on much. Barbies and dress-up? Silly. At least, I always thought it was. Those girls grow up to be vapid and shallow, and I know, because Scotty and I just interviewed one. She'd been giving Scotty the "do-me" eyes since the moment we walked in. I've gotten used to that. Frankly, I don't see what all the fuss is about. I mean, sure, he's a good-lookin' guy, but come on. So if I can avoid turning into a simpering puddle of mush every time a handsome man walks into a room, then I think I'm better off.

I'm thinking about all these things while I'm walking back to the office with Scotty. After our interview, we'd grabbed a hot dog on our way back in, not saying much, just each one of us alone with our thoughts. Scotty knows I'm in therapy, hell, probably the whole world knows, and it seems like he's sensing I don't want to talk much today. He's good like that.

So I have absolutely no idea what comes over me…maybe the gently falling snow, maybe the piles of it that are lining the sidewalk; old enough that the plows and shovels have come along, still new enough that it hasn't turned all gray and disgusting, but the next thing I know, I'm letting Scotty get a little bit ahead of me and I'm stooped down scraping the top off a pile of snow.

A memory comes back to me; one of Chris and me in our front yard, throwing snowballs at each other. It didn't happen much, but I remember once or twice, just running and laughing and feeling free. It dawns on me that maybe that's what my shrink is talking about. Feeling free. A little bitterness rises as I think of Chris, and the many ways she's managed to screw up my life even more than it already was. We haven't talked about my sister in therapy yet. I'm dreading the day we do.

I shove my thoughts of Chris aside as an idea comes to mind. I don't normally have thoughts like this one, but in the interest of my mental health, I embrace it, kinda let it roll around in my head a little, like I'm rolling the snow around in my gloved hands. The snowball and the thought form completely at about the same time, and I rise to my feet.

Scotty's starting to turn just slightly now; seems like he's noticed I'm not walking beside him anymore. "Lil?" he asks.

Did I mention I played softball in high school? I was the pitcher. A damn good one, too. "Laser-Arm Lilly," that's what they called me. I could find the strike zone like nobody's business. And even though it's been almost twenty years since I was on the pitcher's mound, I shake off the rust as I wind up and launch the snowball through the air. It flies straight and true, and lands exactly where I wanted it to. And where might that be? Why, the right side of Scotty's face as he turned around to see where I was. Oh, my god…that shot could not have been any better, and I am extremely proud of myself. I feel the corners of my mouth start to turn up in a mischievous smile.

My smile turns to laughter at the look on Scotty's face. He's just standing there, eyes and mouth wide open in shock. The spot on his cheek where the snowball found its mark is starting to turn red, the snow that's stuck to his skin has begun to melt and drip down his face, his neck, and now it's starting to soak the collar of his coat. He still hasn't said anything…he's staring, like he can't believe I just did that.

Well, hell, I can't believe I just did that, either. I've always tried to be as professional as I can on the job. Murder cops, especially lady murder cops, have to be. Sure, Scotty and I have our fun, we banter back and forth from time to time. I guess some people could call it flirting. Whatever. But most of the time, I'm cool and detached, focused on the job, not the people around me.

Scotty's still giving me that shocked look. "What the…?" he starts to say. I'm still standing there, not ten feet away from him, just giggling. I can't stop. The look on his face is priceless. I would give anything to have a camera right now, to capture that look.

As I'm staring, the look changes. Mischief starts to sparkle in those dark eyes of his, and he drops his briefcase. "Oh, now you're askin' for it, Rush," he says, as he springs into action. He scoops up a pile of snow, shapes it a little, and flings it at me…except his aim is _pathetic_. He misses by a mile. I laugh all the harder. "Good try, Scotty," I say cheerfully, like I'm encouraging a kid on a Little League team.

He looks indignant for a minute, mumbles something about a warmup shot, then scoops up more snow and tries again, putting all his weight behind it with a slight grunt. He's closer this time, I actually have to duck to the right a little bit, and the snowball splats against the glass wall of a bus stop. I'm doubled over with laughter. My sides are starting to ache. I have to bend over and rest my hands on my legs.

And I guess that's when Scotty sees his opportunity, because the next thing I know, he's closed the distance between us. He's got one arm around my waist, and the other hand is full of snow, which he's shoving down the back of my coat. I try to free myself, but he's stronger than I am, and he's absolutely merciless. "Let's see how ya like this," he says, as he continues to pour snow all over me. It's sliding down my back, underneath my shirt, and I shriek as it melts on my skin. Scotty's laughing now, a big, hearty laugh like I haven't heard from him in a long time.

I finally manage to free myself, both our efforts hindered by our laughter, and scoop up more snow. I don't have time to devote to craftsmanship, and my aim suffers from both the crappy quality of the snowball and the fact that I'm laughing so hard. He leans to the side, and the snowball grazes his ear. He picks up more snow and just flings it at me, doesn't even bother to try to make a snowball. Some of it is in chunks, though, and he gets me pretty good, right square in the forehead. The stinging snow shocks me into silence for a minute, and I see Scotty raise his arms in victory like he just scored a game-winning touchdown.

Well. I can't let him get away with that. Before I can even stop myself, I'm crouched low, moving toward him. Caught in mid-gloat, he grunts in surprise as I connect with his torso, and the next thing we know, we're both toppling backwards into a three-foot snowdrift. I'm shoving snow down his neck, and he's rubbing handfuls in my face, and we're just rolling around in the snow like two little kids on the first day of Christmas break.

Finally, we're both laughing so hard we're gasping for breath, and we stop. We're not kids anymore, dammit. We're getting too old for this. We sit there in the snow, still giggling from time to time as we steal glances at each other. He's taken a handkerchief out of his pocket and offers it to me to wipe the snow out of my face. I do, and give it back to him, and he does the same. We're just sitting there, looking at each other, grinning like idiots.

"Thanks," I finally say. "I needed that."

He smiles at me, that lopsided grin he sometimes gets, the one that makes me see, just for an instant, what all the fuss is about. "Yeah…me too," he says. He looks into my eyes, and for a second it looks like he's about to say something else, but then the thought is gone and he's helping me to my feet. "Come on, Rush. Let me buy you some hot cocoa."

I get up, and we gather our things where they'd fallen on the sidewalk, oblivious to the curious stares we're getting from passersby. We brush the snow off our clothes and fall back into step, striding purposefully, because we've just realized that we're soaked to the skin, and it's pretty damn cold outside.

We stop at a street vendor, Scotty hands him a couple of bills, and is rewarded with two cups of cocoa, one of which he gives to me. We ask for a few extra napkins, and are juggling those, our cocoa, and the files we're carrying, trying to dry ourselves off some more.

When we get back to the office, we're still smiling. Scotty's cheeks are flushed from the cold, and as he takes off his coat, I can see that I got him pretty good. His blue dress shirt is wet in several places, but as I remove my coat, I know I'm not much better off. My hair is a mess, even more so than usual, I'm sure, and I take a couple of the clips out and try to rearrange it. I glance at Scotty, who's watching me, his eyes sparkling with repressed laughter.

Vera comes in just then, a half-eaten burger in one hand and a file in the other. He starts to say something, probably about the case, then stops dead in his tracks. He looks from Scotty to me, back to Scotty, back to me. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then says, "I don't even wanna know," before taking another bite of his burger and heading back toward his desk.

So I don't know if a snowball fight with Scotty is going to do anything for my mental health or not, whether it got me back in touch with my "inner child," but it did shock Nick Vera into silence. And that…that is definitely something to celebrate. I lift my cup to Scotty, a silent toast to our friendship. He mirrors the gesture, and we take a sip. Hot cocoa never tasted so good.


End file.
